


Send in the Clowns

by papyrocrat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Self-Harm, references to sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-23
Updated: 2012-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-17 13:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papyrocrat/pseuds/papyrocrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam POV scenes from 7.14. That is to say, 7.14 with a few comments from the peanut gallery. Spoilers only through there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Send in the Clowns

Lucifer has taken to belting out gospel songs between reminiscent monologues.

Blasphemous, racially appropriative, and irritating. Go figure.

 _Yes, but – little-known tidbit – I have perfect pitch. Better than Michael, who couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Choirs of angels, my ass._ This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine _. Hey, Sammy, remember_ my _little light?_

 _You mean hell? Vaguely. Speaking of, why don’t you go there?_ He looks guiltily around to make sure he’s out of Dean’s line of sight before pressing his palm.

Lucifer laughs. _See you later, Allison Gater_.

*

He trips over his shoes as he gets into bed.

Lucifer smirks from his slouch against the headboard. _Thursday gave me a little more grace_.

Sam groans and balls his hand tight.

“Y’okay, Sammy?” Dean can now slur brotherly concern in his sleep, literally.

“M’fine.” He jams a pillow over his face before Saturday tells Lucifer just what to say to make him _completely friggin’ nuts_.

He wakes up sweating balls and frantically kicking off the covers.

Dean’s up already, making that Mr. Mom face of his. “Alarm’s not off for another half an hour. What’re you doing up?”

“Nothing. What’re you doing up?”

“Coffee wasn’t gonna get itself. You look like crap warmed over.”

“Yeah. Thanks. Heat’s up a little high.”

“It’s February.”

“Okay.” He stumbles into the bathroom hoping to rinse off his nightmares, just to walk in on Lucifer pulling his towel off the rack and dropping it on the damp floor.

_Rise’n’shine, oh second-favorite fancy boy of mine._

_I do not envy your favorite._

_Well, you do a little. Want someone to love you the best, right?_

_Oh, fuck you._

_Well, historically it’s been the other way around, but hey, we’re open-minded guys, right?_

Sam nicks himself with his razor and lets out a hiss of relief. He showers as quickly as possible, water frigid and then scathing hot.

He gets back out to Dean with relatively little incident. “Don’t bother packing,” Dean says, “there’s been another death.”

“And why wouldn’t there be.”

Dean snorts.

_You know, this fatalism is somewhat disconcerting in such a fine young man. You should really see a specialist._

He runs his nails over the raw shaving cut and tells Dean he’ll be ready in ten.

They get in the car and head back to that clown-infested shithole. Lucifer slouches across the backseat, swinging his ashy shoes onto the upholstery. _Ruby liked you the best. Well, second best, after Lilith._

_Her? Really? That’s a cheap shot even for you._

_Did you ever think about that? Little ménage a psycho? I could probably have it arranged, since I’m running the show up here and all._

_No._

Lucifer laughs. _I know that’s not true._

_Okay._

_I mean, even if I weren’t intimately familiar with the inner workings of your surprisingly pervy little brain, which –_ Lucifer picks at his nails _– don’t get me wrong, I am, I’d still know when you were full of shit._

Sam taps his badge against his palm, and Dean lets him pretend he’s done it privately.

It works for a moment, until Lucifer leans over his shoulder. _Because I’m the Prince of Lies. You can’t fool me._

Sam looks out the window.

_You’re just a pretender to the throne. Though, one with a good deal of promise, I will say that._

He climbs out of the car and they drag ass to the crime scene.

_Why the disproportionately long face, bunk buddy? Don’t we get to falsely accuse some people of horrible supernatural murders today? That’s all our favorite things! Witch trials, lies, gratuitous displays of power over the lesser-_

-palm zap, which takes for a while.

*

_Shout hallelujah, come on get happy, the Lord is waitin’ to take your hand._ Lucifer smirks. _Well, probably not, because he’s kind of a twat that way – between you, me, and your fraying little cerebellum, there are some severe anti-social tendencies there - and anyway, let me count the ways he wouldn’t be interested yours._

He can’t really do the palm thing while he’s busy menacing the kid behind the snack bar, so he focuses on, well, menacing, and that distracts him a little.

_Actually, what the me? It’s not like I’m going anywhere. Let’s count the ways._

“So where were you the other night?”

_Number four, there’s the whole rending hell and earth to raise me thing. Disappointing denouement aside, I really can’t thank you enough for that, you’re a real team player._

“I’m not impressed!” he snaps at the kid. The kid balks, and he bluffs his way back onto topic.

_Number eight, all that cruelty, taking out your own frustrations on some poor potential witness. And number nine, it’s plain unprofessional. Like your hair, which is definitely number ten. The Heavenly Father has very little regard for sloppiness._

Lucifer veers off on a tangent a tangent about his hair, which he finds surprisingly easy to tune out until: … _seriously, you look like a wild alpaca on stilts_.

“You think I haven’t heard that all before?” he barks out at the kid, who’s definitely too stupid to be hiding more than some porn in his work locker, but you can never be too careful, especially here, where there are frigging clowns everywhere.

 _Number eleven, resists self-improvement when given constructive criticism_.

He glares and lets the kid stammer nervously for a while.

_Number fourteen, you clip your nails in the Impala. That’s gross, you sleep there. Number fifteen, you sleep in a car._

“Not lately.”

“Huh?” the stoner kid says.  


*

_Yanking that poor woman’s chain when we know she didn’t do anything wrong._

“Well, do you?”

She’s thrown, probably exactly as thrown as someone without much to hide, but he can’t back down now. “Do I what?”

_Does she know how very vulnerable she is right now? How close you are to that moment you finally-_

His stomach twists. “You’re free to go. For now.”

She scampers off. Thank God.

*

It can’t hurt you, he says aloud, because what more could?

 _You sure about that, sweet cheeks?_ Lucifer chuckles.

If it bleeds, you can kill it, he reminds himself.

 _Well, **someone** can kill it _ . Lucifer strokes his chin thoughtfully, because he’s cliché like that. _Not so sure about you._ Lucifer drags his nail down his nail down his cheekbone until he draws blood. _How ‘bout it? Is the master about to get bit by the bitch?_

He dodges a swinging stilt and bolts. If it bleeds, you can kill it.

Lucifer chuckles. _They’re going to kill you_.

The blue one hits him square in the mouth with silly string.

They can’t hurt you, he promises himself.

_But funny story, they can, you’re going to die with them and wake up next to me. Where you’ve been all along. My punk, getting punked._

There’s a void in the air around him and he’s gasping for breath and oh God this is what it’s like to really –

-but they’re gone.

He pants and he heaves and Lucifer pouts. _But where are the clowns?_

 _Fuck off_. He grits his teeth so hard his jaw aches.

Lucifer winks. _Maybe later, bunk buddy_.

He and Dean do their usual holiday exchange over the car – Plucky Pennywhistle Day, he supposes, the day of St. Plucky the deranged killer clown ghost – Sam’s stolen a toy for Dean, Dean’s won Sam a joke that reminds Sam just how goddamn screwed up he is.

He gets it, though.

Lucifer flops across the backseat as they roll away. _Oh, when those bells refuse to chime_ ….

Sam turns up Dean’s music. It’s the best he can do for now.


End file.
